


A Multitude of Drops (Makes an Ocean of Love)

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feel-good, Fluffy Ending, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Still a Witcher, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion is Called Julian, M/M, No Major Character Death, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, implied child neglect, jaskier has self esteem issues, love that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “I can’t take you. On my Path. And you don’t want to be tied to a witcher.”“We’re married, Geralt, I lo—” His breath hitches as Geralt slides his ring off of his finger and holds it out to Jaskier.“Here. Should make you enough coin to find a house and food till you find work.”Geralt works his jaw, clenching in attempt to keep his emotions hidden as he watches Jaskier’s eyes well with tears.Or, Geralt marries Jaskier for money before trying to "set the man free."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 48
Kudos: 672





	1. Chapter 1

Coin is coin, he tells himself, the Earl, shoving a heavy bag of it into Geralt’s hand. _“I don’t deal with humans,”_ he’d said. But the man had only given him a bigger bag, taut as if stuffed to the brim. It’s the oddest thing. Julian’s father doesn’t care when Geralt tells him that path is dangerous for humans— the man only grows more insistent, as if he _wants_ Julian dead. _He’s an embarrassment to the family name,_ the man says, disappointment coloring his face.

Geralt agrees, if only because he knows what it feels to be unwanted by one’s own parents.

Jaskier is giddy as they exchange rings, flowers in a crown around their heads as they hold hands and press a kiss to each other’s lips. It makes his skin crawl, how happy Jaskier looks, being _wanted_.

The man, only barely nineteen, is just as flirty as he was last night as they’re paraded around the town, sticking his tongue at a woman as they pass her— _got married before you, didn’t I, Bertha? I did! And you can suck it!_ He laughs, so melodious it sounds like bells to Geralt’s mutated ears.He hates that he’s going to ruin that joy, hates even more that he cares.

The Path is no place for humans; witchers aren’t meant to feel. 

He’s so fucking sappy, kissing him, telling how much he likes the way his broods, how much he adores how strong and brave Geralt is, undeterred as the witcher ignores him. _“Not a worry, my dear. I’ll teach you to be soft, yet.”_

He won’t get to. 

Geralt turns to him as soon as they’re out of town, Ju— _Jaskier_ talking a mile a minute.

“Oxenfurt’s that way.” He points to behind the man, Roach faced in the opposite direction. He knows he wants to teach there, has wanted to since Jaskier graduated two years ago, had mentioned it last night, tipsy and flushed on wine.

Jaskier looks at him, head tilted, tongue flitting over his lower lip in confusion. “Why? I wouldn’t think a witcher would have any business in a college-town, is—”

“I can’t take you. On my Path. And you don’t want to be tied to a witcher.”

“We’re married, Geralt, I lo—” His breath hitches as Geralt slides his ring off of his finger and holds it out to Jaskier.

“Here. Should make you enough coin to find a house and food till you start working.”

Geralt works his jaw, clenching in attempt to keep his emotions hidden as he watches Jaskier’s eyes well with tears. He can see the boy’s thinking, _Of course he hadn’t been wanted, his own family didn’t want him, just a dandelion, weed to be trampled over and stem thrown aside after being used to make a wish, seeds fluttering into the wind._

“Why did you marry me, then?” Jaskier asks, lively blue eyes so dull, heartbreak clear in his shaking hands.

Geralt climbs onto Roach, can’t face him he mutters, “your father paid me. Coin is coin.”

_It’s not your fault,_ he wants to say, _you deserve so much, deserve more than I will ever be able to give you_. _Fly away, now, little lark._

Jaskier doesn’t.

Follows him, biting his tongue when he realizes he’s rambling, lute untouched on his back as if he’s silencing himself for Geralt. He patches him up after hunts, earns coin in taverns late into the night, handing them to Geralt without a word as if he’s trying to buy the witcher’s love.

They sleep together just once, Jaskier crying quiet tears after it.

Geralt hates it. Can’t fucking stand it anymore, it’s been _months_. He wants the lively man back, filled with color and warmth. 

If it takes accepting that he loves Jaskier, then it’s a small price to pay. The bard’s eyes light up when he hands him a bunch of roses and presses a kiss to the shy corner of his lips.

And Geralt is _addicted_. Holds his husband at night, calls him pretty, beautiful, and every other name he knows under the sun because it feels _so good_. So good to see happiness on Jaskier’s face.

The humming is first to return, like a bird making nest in a forest that had been overrun by hunters years ago; eager to return home and hesitant all at once.

Geralt presses a kiss to him in the middle of the market that day, an absentminded brush of lips after muttering that he’ll be by the herbs cart, for Jaskier to come meet him there after he’s done with buying the fruit.

Jaskier _sings_ that night, lute loud, voice unwavering, thriving under the love Geralt’s found the bravery to express.

A week of travel, song, and contract pass before Geralt finally asks. 

Jaskier smiles, a wavy, lovely thing as he chokes out a sob, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck, lips pressed together in a kiss that makes him ache for more _._

They’re sprawled out on their bedrolls, pushed together under the night sky, warmed by the fire and their pressed-together shoulders, hearts wild in their chestss.

_“I want you, Jaskier.”_

Shaky hands slip the ring back onto Geralt’s finger.

It feels so right, both of them _belonging_ in each other’s embrace as they watch the stars, telling hushed stories in the dark between sweets kisses.

It’s a good feeling, he thinks, watching Jaskier with fondness as the man points to the heavens, it’s a good feeling to love and to be loved.


	2. Chapter 2

The trek up the mountain-path is rough, Geralt clinging to Jaskier’s waist in a vice-grip should he trip as they walk up the ledges. They make the last camp for the trip; tomorrow, they’ll be at Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier snuggles in closer, tucking himself into Geralt’s chest to keep himself warm from the winds that swirl outside. They’ve made it through the more dangerou parts of the Killer, still quite alive, mind; the walk tomorrow should go without hitch. 

“Stop thinking, sleep. And don’t tell me  _ witchers don’t sleep _ , you were snoring in my ear the other day.” Geralt hums, pulls Jaskier impossibly flush to his chest and holds him close. The wind howls outside, and he’s ever-glad that he left Roach in the tavern’s stables at the base of the mountain. 

“I’m excited to meet them,” Jaskier pipes up, bright eyes sparkling though there’s no light to reflect off them. Geralt’s breath catches in his throat, the beauty of his husband breathtaking as his mind drifts, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. “I know Lambert’s the one with short hair, and Eskel with the long— they must look so heroic, I wonder what their stories are; are they more talkative than you? Or are you all grouchy fucks?” Geralt growls playfully at that, earning himself a pretty chuckle. 

“Alright, alright, time for sleep, I am  _ exhausted _ , dear heart— I don’t know how we’ll do this every year, but I’m up for it if it means a nice bath, warm food, and a fortress-full of witchers.” 

Ice-cold lips press a kiss to his nose, and they both fall prey to sleep. 

  
  
  
  


The snow kicks up under his feet as he runs towards his brothers at a violent speed, wide grins on each of their faces as they all crash against one another in the courtyard in a too-tight hug. Lambert tucks his face into Geralt’s neck as Geralt does the same to Eskel, breathing in the comforting scents of their brothers. 

“What the fuck?” Lambert snaps, face wrinkling as he moves away. “Why do you smell like— oh.” Jaskier patiently waits for them at the edge of the courtyard, where the path opens up to the level ground at the entrance of Kaer Morhen. “Brought a bitch to share, then?” Jaskier shuffles, close enough to hear, and Geralt can smell the clashing scents of shame.

“He’s my husband?” Eskel grins at him in congrats as Lambert laughs. 

“The bastard that was  _ sold to you? _ You actually  _ kept him?” _

The shame turns much more sour, delving into humiliation. Geralt glares at his brother just as Eskel growls  _ Lambert. _

“That’s no way to treat a guest, leaving him out in the cold—” Vesemir leans against the doorframe, the old man smiling warmly as he catches Geralt’s eye. “Welcome home, boy, now— bring your husband in before he freezes to death.” 

His room has been prepared, dust chased out and bed made; he flicks his fingers into an igni to light the fire after setting down his bags. 

“Jaskier.” The bard hasn’t said a word since they’d gotten here, a stark comparison to the excited rambling he’d done all up the path. He still reeks of stark misery and discomfort. “What’s wrong?” 

Jaskier curls in on himself, shoulders hunched as he leans against the wall. “You’re really going to make me say it?” Defeat has not, and will never be, a good look on him. 

Geralt hums and walks towards him, tucking one hand under his knees and picking him up like a bride. His bride. Jaskier yelps, clinging to Geralt’s tunic as the witcher nuzzles his hair and sets him on their bed. “I love you.” He crawls in next to him, tucking the both of them under blankets. “I love your singing, and your nonsense jokes, and how you need to get your dick wet every fucking night to go to sleep— I love fucking you, I love touching you, and I love being yours.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough.

“Really?” 

He holds Jaskier closer, and aims a careful burst of Aard at the door to slam it shut. “Really. And I love that you’re mine; we’ll just have to prove it to Lambert that we’re in love, won’t we?” 

Jaskier cracks a grin as Geralt straddles his hips, trailing his hands down the front of his chest. “And however will we do that, dear heart?” He groans as Geralt grinds down against his cock.

“I imagine it’ll be something like this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil thing bladeangel suggested <3 <3 thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little thing I couldn't get out of my head lmao
> 
> Let me know what you thought of it!! Comments give my angst-shriveled soul nutrition. No lie 
> 
> [Come say hi on tumblr (@persony-pepper)!](https://persony-pepper.tumblr.com)
> 
> Honestly at this at this point, idfk what my titles even mean, i hope they just vibe with my fic 😂c


End file.
